


and if the devil was to ever see you, he’d kiss your eyes and repent

by strawb3rryshake



Series: to face god and walk backwards into hell [1]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, But only in the sexiest and most loving of ways, M/M, Prince of Hell Magnus Bane, Secret Relationship, They're both a little evil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 04:14:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28950228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawb3rryshake/pseuds/strawb3rryshake
Summary: “We can’t keep meeting like this,” Magnus says affectionately. Alec looks over to him, watches the slits of his pupils dilate. He shrugs.“Not my fault,” he hums, “wouldn’t have to do this if you played by the rules.”—a shadowhunter and a warlock walk into a bar (but the bar is hell and the warlock was already there)
Relationships: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood
Series: to face god and walk backwards into hell [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2123367
Comments: 12
Kudos: 157





	and if the devil was to ever see you, he’d kiss your eyes and repent

**Author's Note:**

> title from the poetry of Farouq Jwaydeh, as quoted in this twitter thread [here.](https://twitter.com/rosewatwr/status/1292487129793208320)

They’re leaned against a wall, the two of them, surveying the great ocean of sand that stretches out into the distance, sherbet pink in the evening light. Under Alec’s boots, the earth steams. The stone is hot against his back. He takes a breath and the air is humid, smoky.

“We can’t keep meeting like this,” Magnus says affectionately. Alec looks over to him, watches the slits of his pupils dilate. He shrugs.

“Not my fault,” he hums, “wouldn’t have to do this if you played by the rules.”

He knows Magnus is rolling his eyes but chooses to look instead at the round belly of Edom’s red sun as it sinks into the sand. It’s the coolest part of the day yet he is sticky with sweat, clothes damp with it.

“You can’t expect us to stay here all the time, darling. The heat alone is,” and Magnus glances at Alec’s neck, his jaw, his forehead, where the perspiration has burnished him like a swimsuit model, “oppressive.”

Alec shrugs again. Not his problem. “You seem to be doing just fine.”

At this, Magnus laughs, loud and booming. “Because, my dear, my father formed me out of the very clay on which you stand.”

This is a lie. Magnus was born from a womb just like anyone else; in Jakarta, back when the Dutch were calling it something stupid and European. Alec knows this because it’s in Magnus’ file, which he has read repeatedly. 

But Magnus rarely acknowledges his origins. “I’m made from this land and for it,” he continues, “but I am one of few. The vampires hate it here. If the wolves hadn’t begged for exemption I’m sure they would’ve all but died out.”

Alec agrees. Edom’s lack of organic animal life, alongside its arid climate and barren geography, had kept the werewolf packs of the greater New York area in the greater New York area while warlocks and vampires had been banished to the various planes of hell. It was a post-Uprising compromise, negotiated between Valentine (who was winning) and the Clave (who did not want to be forced to fight him). Send the Downworlders to hell and the Circle disbands. And so it they did.

(It was not technically before Alec’s time, but he remembers none of it. The whole thing was done and finished before his second birthday).

“How are the wolves, by the way?” Magnus asks lightly, “Luke never answers my calls.”

Alec frowns. “You have phones here?”

“Alec,” Magnus says, looking halfway between disappointed and endeared, “I am a man of great talent and ability. I both predated and outlived Thomas Edison.”

“That was the lightbulb.”

Magnus rolls his eyes, waves a hand. “Whatever. You see my point.”

They sit in silence for a moment. Alec considers answering Magnus’ question but thinks better of it, because the wolves aren’t doing well. Not that the Seelie fare much better. They may not be cooking in the heat Edom’s sun but here, under Magnus’ kingship, quality of life is good. Tenable. Sustainable. Back in New York, there is the violent weight of anti-Downworlder sentiment that allegedly disappeared with the Circle but has, in reality, gone all of fucking nowhere. He thinks of how Izzy will visit Meliorn and always come back angry. How Jace calls Maia every night, skips hello and goes right to “you safe? you make it?”

“Alexander Graham Bell,” he says, after the quiet begins to itch, “invented the telephone. And don’t ask me why I know that because it should be pretty obvious.”

Magnus, contrite, closes his mouth. Smiles a bit.

The sun has become a semi-circle, bisected by the horizon. It looks, to Alec, like a juicy wedge of blood orange and his mouth begins to water. Once it disappears fully, the temperature will drop a good twenty degrees and the vamps will come filtering out of their apartments to do whatever vampires do in Edom.

Then Clary will arrive, bringing that mundane of hers—or, ex-mundane, Alec supposes. He turns to look at Magnus, sets his shoulders.

“Do you want me to kill her?” he asks.

Magnus blinks at him. Purses his lips. “I beg your pardon?”

Alec sighs. “Camille.”

For a good minute, neither of them says anything. The sun settles a little lower. Alec considers the tightness around Magnus’ eyes and feels guilt blossom in him like a raindrop hits the pavement. “I know that’s why you keep letting her out. You’re hoping someone will do it and save you the trouble.”

Magnus looks at him reproachfully, with big, sad, yellow eyes. Alec is quick to comfort him. “I get it. I totally get it, I do, and I’ll do it for you. You just have to ask.”

He lets his hand brush against Magnus’, where it’s curled up in the waistband of his leather trousers. The fist unfurls like a new leaf; his palm is smooth and dry and warm. “Alexander,” Magnus whispers, worries his lip along his teeth, “I couldn’t.”

He takes a deep breath, huffs it out through his nose. “I couldn’t. But thank you for offering.”

Alec tugs him close, presses a kiss to the corner of his eye, the arch of his brow, the flat bridge of his nose. “It’s a standing offer,” he says, “just say the word.”

Nodding, Magnus lets his eyes flutter closed. Alec gives him matching kisses on each eyelid, then moves to his cheek, his jaw. Tucks one at the juncture of his earlobe and his neck. Magnus makes a soft, throaty noise and slides a hand under Alec’s armpit, coming up to grasp at his shoulder. They kiss until the sun is a mere sliver of light, diffusing into a sky that is orange like rust.

“Clarissa,” Magnus breathes into Alec’s ear. Alec groans—the last person he wants to think about—but Magnus shushes him with a giggle. “You said she’s bringing a vampire?”

Alec nods, unwilling to separate his mouth from the skin behind Magnus’ ear. Magnus bites at the corner of his jaw, un-lovingly. “Hm. Yeah,” Alec grumbles, “Simon. Her friend. It’s kind of a bad scene; she doesn’t think he should have to be here.”

“And I’m sure he’d rather be anywhere else,” Magnus murmurs sympathetically, “talk her up to me and I’ll try to let him out on weekends.”

He runs a hand through the coarse dark hair at Alec’s nape, tugs a bit. Alec wants to whine; doesn’t.

“No can do,” he admits, “I don’t like her. But Izzy’s head over heels so…”

A grin lights up Magnus’ face. “Anything for Isabelle,” he says, and means it.

A chill wind sends a shiver up Alec’s spine. The sun is gone, the space around them graying and dark. Behind them, the city lights up window by window. It’s hell, but it’s beautiful. Strong, clean lines, sandstone and smooth arches, date and palm and pomegranate trees on every corner. There are fountains and oases, public sculpture and street art.

In his heart of hearts, his fantasies, Alec lives here. Spends Saturdays and lunch breaks with his siblings and Sundays with Maryse and Max and comes home to Magnus, to this hot and awful place, every night.

Someday.

In the distance there is a voice. It’s calling for Magnus, husky and irritated. Alec recognizes it easily: Raphael Santiago, head of Edom’s association of vampires and Magnus’ favorite adoptee. He’d been asked, by Magnus, to meet the fledgling at the gates, as he is asked to do with every new vampire that Alec chaperons down here.

“If he calls me a chauffeur one more time, Mags,” Alec warns, pulling back but not away. Despite their shared love of Magnus, he and Raphael have never gotten along.

Magnus laughs at this—a private thing, just for Alec. “Would you prefer escort?” he asks with as straight a face as he can manage.

Alec groans, lets Magnus push him—tenderly, reluctantly—out of his arms.

“Go on, then,” Magnus says, and his smile is very lazy and very sweet, “can’t have Clary knowing her direct report comes to drop-off early so he can swap spit with a warlock.”

Alec can’t help but giggle a bit at this. Wonders if he should tell Magnus he’d gladly stick his tongue down his throat in front of the entire New York institute; decides it can wait. “I’ll go the back way,” he whispers, as Raphael calls again for Magnus from much, much closer, “see you in a few.”

“Hasta siempre, my love,” Magnus says, and blows him a kiss before ducking through an archway and disappearing.

Because he is in love and a fool, Alec catches the kiss in his hand and presses the palm to his mouth. It makes him blush, even in the dusk with no one around to see him. In a moment, he will jog up a set of stone steps, wind his way past shops and clubs and riads and corner stores to meet Clary and her Simon at the mouth of the city. He will act like he’d been there the whole time, will allow them their tearful goodbye and then watch as Raphael spirits his new fledgling away.

Then they will leave, through the great hazy rift that he’ll usher Clary through first. And when she has disappeared, and there is no one but Alec and Magnus at the great gate of Edom’s yet unnamed capital city (which Magnus keeps threatening to call Alexandria), Magnus will blow him another kiss. And Alec will catch it, tuck it in his pocket, and take it home.

**Author's Note:**

> so. i meant to write about simon. and ended up with this, which is turning into a fully-fledged au that i’m quite fond of. questions are always welcome. & i don’t mean to threaten but i’m writing more whether you like it or not. thank you for being here (as always) x


End file.
